


For Your Eyes Only

by patchwork_panda



Category: Voltron: Legendary Defender
Genre: Alternate Universe - Stripper/Exotic Dancer, I tried to make Keith sexy, Keith is a stripper, Kolivan gets a cameo because why the hell not, M/M, Matt is a detective, No Sex, Pidge gets a sort of cameo, Shiro is a cop, Strip Tease, Strippers & Strip Clubs, lance is a stripper, really hope I did it, shiro has no idea what he's doing
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-05-13
Updated: 2018-05-13
Packaged: 2019-05-05 23:50:50
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,599
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14629629
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/patchwork_panda/pseuds/patchwork_panda
Summary: This is the fic idea I'd posted on Tumblr that ended up getting more notes than I was expecting... so I wrote it.AU one shot where Keith is a stripper, people like him and request him because he seems so aloof and hot and the customers hope they might be the one person he’s nice to and Shiro is just some poor guy who got dragged in by his fellow groomsmen at a friend’s bachelor party. Keith is his normal self, not nice at all to anyone but he does seem to be interested in Shiro... A short, (kinda) hot fic in which Shiro somehow starts out getting a lap dance and ends up with Keith's phone number.





	For Your Eyes Only

**Author's Note:**

> I was supposed to finish my other Sheith fic first (it's a one-shot about exorcism and based off Tibetan Buddhism, I'll finish it soon I hope) but this idea ended up taking over my whole brain and getting finished first. So this is now my first Sheith fic. Oops. I might have spent a little too much time trying to edit it because I was really trying to make Keith seem sexy... I hope I succeeded... and I hope anyone reading this gets some enjoyment out of it... *goes back into hiding*

“You’ve got to be kidding me.”

He was off the job and yet, here he was. Takashi Shirogane, known as “Shiro” to his coworkers and “the Champion” to his lawyer buddies in the DA’s office, was standing just outside the doors to one of the fanciest strip clubs he had ever seen. At one in the fucking morning. Somehow, the night had started with drinks after work and lengthened until they were now waiting in line in the freezing cold, just a stone’s throw away from the financial district downtown. Even though he was only in his late twenties, the median age of this particular crew, Shiro felt far too old for this. The last thing he wanted at this hour was to be at a makeshift bachelor party with his fellow groomsmen when he’d literally been up since dawn working on difficult cases. He wanted to go home and feed his cat.

“Aw come on, Shiro, the Lieutenant is getting hitched!” someone cajoled, unaware that the glaringly bright lights of the marquee hit Shiro’s eyes like an actual punch. “It’ll be fun, I promise!”

Famous last words. The last time, this particular cop had mentioned ‘fun,’ Shiro and the others had found themselves surrounded by the mafia’s dogs in an abandoned warehouse. It was a testament to his patience that he didn’t bring this up when he had every right to.

“Just a couple more hours, Shiro, I promise,” Matt managed say through audibly chattering teeth. At least Matt was here. A genius detective and one of Shiro’s best friends during college, Matthew Holt had joined the police force shortly after Shiro had been officially promoted from cadet to officer. His was a grounding presence and on a night of drunken shenanigans like this, spending quality time with his old friend was the only reason Shiro had stuck around this long.

“Matt, are you sure about this?” Shiro asked, studying his friend carefully. They were next in line to go in and the other guys were already fumbling around for their ID cards. Matt was his ride home and his last chance to escape. “It’s getting pretty late and Katie’s staying over at your apartment this weekend. Don’t you think you should run back and check on her?”

“Pidge?” Matt made a sound halfway between a snort and a sneeze. “I just texted her ten minutes ago. She knows exactly where I am and in fact, she even told me to send her pictures and tell her all about it. And I totally would, but...”

He pointed to a sign above their heads that read in very clear letters, “No photos.”

“Bet they’d let you take a photo if you paid enough for it,” he grumbled glumly, as the bouncer trained his eyes on them. At once, Matt grinned stupidly and waved his darkened phone in front of him to show that it was turned off. When the bouncer nodded and waved them in, Matt shoved it in his back pocket and mumbled darkly, “‘Pics or it didn’t happen.’ ‘At least tell me they were hot.’ C’mon, Pidge...”

He clapped a hand on Shiro’s shoulder. Years later, Shiro would come to remember Matt’s next words as what ultimately led him to his downfall.

“It’s a bachelor party, Shiro. Try to loosen up and have some fun.”

And try he did. It was a valiant attempt to say the least. If he was tired and irritated before, the pulsing music and flashing lights did nothing to improve his mood. Normally, he would’ve bought a drink in a situation like this but the inflated prices on top of the promise of nursing a severe hangover the next morning deterred him. Instead, he sipped from a glass of water at their table and let his eyes wander across the room. This was rumored to be a decently popular establishment, catering to all sorts and as expected, all sorts of people were milling about the decently crowded floor. There were older men in their sixties, young men who looked like they were barely old enough to be here, and everyone in between. There was actually a significant number of women here and as a spirited young man hopped up onstage and took to the pole, he understood why. Tonight the featured dancers were all male.

“Wow, look at him go,” Matt remarked, looking impressed. “You think our groom-to-be might be interested in getting a private dance from him?”

Shiro shrugged. He couldn’t say he knew the man’s tastes all that well but judging from the photos he’d seen of his coworker’s fiance, he could tell that the two had vastly different personalities.

“Maybe?”

The guy on the pole was a lithe young thing, all bronzed skin and bright smiles, his smooth movements, confidence and grace betraying his coltish form as he twisted about the pole. He seemed to have just about every trick up his metaphoric sleeve, from simple grinding against the pole to holding difficult poses for several long, impressive seconds. At one point, he managed to flip himself upside down, his back arching beautifully as his legs extended from either side of his hips in a perfect one-hundred-eighty-degrees. Someone in the crowd whistled and he winked, letting himself off the pole as easily as he had climbed up on it to begin with.

“Always a showstopper, aren’t you? If you would like to request a private performance from Lance...” The young man took a moment to wave as he walked backwards towards the back counter. “Please meet up with him at the bar or speak to a member of the staff. Thank you. Next up...”

Several people, including one of the other groomsmen from Shiro’s table, got up, presumably to request Lance. Suprisingly, Matt also got up. Shiro raised an eyebrow as Matt passed him but Matt laughed disarmingly and said he was only going to the restroom.

“I’m actually kind of bored,” he admitted, “So if you want to leave after I get back, I’d be happy to drive you back home. After all...”

He leaned in conspiratorially and whispered, “I managed to snap a couple pictures with the camera I hid on my jacket button. I got my proof _and_ I get the feeling Pidge would like this guy, Lance.”

“Well, she’s not the only one,” Shiro chuckled as Lance approached their table and dragged Shiro’s engaged coworker to a back room. “I’ll see you in a minute, Matt.”

To the protests of the rest of their party, Shiro stood. Yes, he knew that there were still a number of people in the lineup and yes he knew that he’d be unable to say goodbye to their friend, who was still in the back room. The sound of the announcer calling for the next dancer became a muffled roar in the background and he picked up his glass, intending to finish his water before leaving.

Then, the most beautiful person Shiro had ever seen walked by. The glass fell right out of his hand.

He was a slim, pale young man, about half a head shorter than Shiro and looking to be around the same age as Lance. Clad only in a loose black tank top cropped just below his ribs and a matching pair of black shorts that looked just a _little_ too short, he strolled past Shiro with his thumbs tucked into the waistband and headed for the stage. His long dark bangs fell into his eyes with a careless sort of grace and as he lifted one hand to brush his hair aside, he looked right at Shiro, his dark eyes burning with an intensity that would surely be seared into Shiro’s soul for years to come. He was stunning.

Shiro wasn’t the only one who had noticed the new dancer. Around the room, beers spilled, jaws dropped, and several heads turned as the young man passed by, coolly ignoring everyone and everything around him as he took off his fingerless gloves and placed one hand on the pole. A couple of Shiro’s coworkers immediately went into a makeshift huddle and Shiro could hear them conspiring to get this young man to dance for their group. He had no objections to that.

“Woah. Who is _that?!_ ” he heard someone ask.

Yes, who? Shiro would gladly throw himself out a window if that was what it took to get a name. 

“That’s Keith,” a waitress answered. From the way she had quickly appeared to clean up the mess Shiro had made, this wasn’t the first time this had happened. “I’m surprised he actually came in tonight. His attendance has been really spotty these days. Boss has been thinking about letting him go.”

Letting him go? Someone like that? Shiro didn’t understand.

He watched, transfixed, as a new song played over the speakers and the young man started to dance. Where Lance was charming and warm, Keith was aloof and distant, but rather than being off-putting, his pretty, unsmiling face only seemed to draw his audience in further. Interestingly enough, while his routine wasn’t overtly suggestive as others had been, there was something naturally erotic about that lean form, those taut muscles, the untold strength rippling under that skimpy costume... Shiro felt he had no choice but to sit back down and continue to watch.

“Hey, Shiro, ready to go?” Matt had returned from the bathrooms and was tapping Shiro on the shoulder, snapping him out of his trance.

“Actually...” Shiro decided, not looking Matt directly in the eye, “I think we should stay.”

Matt’s jaw hit the floor.

“Stay? What—?!” he sputtered. “Wait, you want to stay? Shiro, what’s gotten into you?”

Unable to speak, Shiro just pointed at Keith. Matt squinted at Shiro, then Keith, who was now grinding his narrow hips against the pole, then back at Shiro.

“Uh...” was all he could formulate. Shiro could practically hear Matt judging him but he didn’t care, he only had eyes for Keith.

“Careful about hiring him,” the waitress said, shooting Shiro a pitying look. “I’ve seen him scam people—guys _and_ girls—out of a week’s worth of wages just waiting for him to smile. They’re all hoping they’ll be that one special person who gets to see it but as far as I know, it hasn’t happened yet.”

As she walked away, one of the more hesitant guys at their table seemed to recall something. Beckoning their group closer, he dropped his voice so that he could whisper, “You know, now that she mentions it, I seem to recall something about a bet among the waitstaff at this place. They’re either betting on what kind of customer’s going to be the first to get a real smile out of him or whether someone’s going to be able to actually bag his number. I heard the pot for this bet’s like at what, ten grand now?”

“Ten grand?!” Matt yelped. “For _that_?!”

Shiro shushed him. Ten grand was a small pot considering someone like Keith. As the song ended and Keith stepped off the stage at last, one of the patrons nearby motioned for him to approach. When Keith drew near, he was greeted with one hand placed very firmly on his ass. Within seconds, the man was lying flat on the floor as his buddies laughed uproariously around him—Keith had kicked his chair out from under him and stormed away.

“Keith!” someone, presumably a manager, started hollering for the young dancer, but Keith only rolled his eyes, flipped a bird and walked away. He even looked pretty when he was angry.

“Shiro, this is a bad idea,” Matt whispered urgently as the irritable Keith approached their table. “I really think we should go!”

And then something completely unexpected happened. As he passed Shiro, the young dancer slowed down a little, made eye contact with him once again and he _smiled_. Then he was gone.

“Holy shit,” someone whispered as Keith walked away.

Keith didn’t smile. The waitress had just assured them this was fact. But Keith had looked at Shiro with those beautiful indigo eyes again and this time, he had _smiled_. And suddenly, Shiro knew he had to have those eyes on him for the next five minutes, if not the rest of the night.

“Excuse me,” he mumbled, pushing past a panicking Matt and heading straight for the bar.

Somehow he was able to successfully squeeze past several people and make his way towards the counter, all without tripping over his own two feet. At least, he did up until the last second, when he stepped on the slippery neck of a beer bottle. Luckily, he managed to catch himself in a way that made it look like he had all but thrown himself at the counter, knocking the wind out of him but leaving him whole enough to continue on his quest. He coughed and tried to collect himself, straightening up, straightening his tie, trying to make himself look more presentable... He stopped just short of trying to get his hair to look less like a floppy white mess over his forehead when he caught the attention of the bartender, a muscular man in a suit with a scar over his right eye. The bartender raised an eyebrow and the scar lengthened.

“Can I help you?” he asked gruffly.

“Uh, yeah,” Shiro said, choosing his next words carefully. He’d run over without so much as a second thought about how to request a lap dance and suddenly, the difficulty of his challenge hit him like a brick to the head. He hoped he didn’t look too sweaty. 

“About the dancers...”

The bartender stared pointedly at Shiro. He looked annoyed.

“Yeah?” he asked.

The bartender was clearly not amused. Shiro grimaced, abandoning all pretense. He glanced down at the man’s name tag. 

“Alright. Mister uh, Kolivan? I’ve never done this before.”

“Clearly,” Kolivan sneered. He was having a good laugh at Shiro’s expense, but the thought of Keith’s abs and his fleeting smile pushed him onward.

“I’d like to request a dance from Keith.”

“ _Keith?_ ”

Kolivan’s dull yellowed eyes scanned Shiro’s face and his entire expression transformed from surprised to amused to something like pity in the span of only two seconds.

“You’ve got it bad, huh?”

He did. Really bad. One more drawn-out sigh from Shiro was all it took for the bartender to shake his head and give in.

“Alright. You’ve talked to the right guy. I’ll get you a dance from Keith. One moment...”

He set down the glass he was polishing and picked up a cordless phone from under the counter. He walked away so that Shiro couldn’t hear what he was saying but when he returned, he motioned for Shiro to come forward. He leaned in, his yellowed eyes boring holes into Shiro’s head.

“What’s your name, son?”

“Shiro.”

“You be careful in there, Shiro. Just don’t say I didn’t warn you.”

“Hey.”

Someone tapped Shiro on the shoulder. And there he was, standing not more than a few inches away from Shiro, long pale limbs and dark blue eyes in a slender face. Shiro’s heart leaped into his throat as Keith’s smaller hand found his and circled his wrist in a remarkably strong grip.

“Let’s go,” he said, pulling his newly acquired victim away from the bar. Wordlessly, Shiro followed. He could feel Matt’s judgmental eyes on him as they passed through the room and headed straight for the back but he was determined not to look, even though he could hear his party calling for him. Finally, as Keith led him through a set of gilded doors, Shiro turned; he thought he saw the bartender holding out a thumbs up sign. “Good luck,” the man appeared to say. The doors swung shut and then it was just the two of them alone in that small, dimly lit room.

There were no poles in here, only a small end-table with a menu propped up in the center and a large, cushy-looking fake leather couch on the far end of the room, stretching from one side of the narrow chamber to the other. As Keith led him towards it, Shiro noticed with a start that each of the four walls and even the ceiling were lined with mirrors; now he looked four times as awkward as he felt and he was already feeling pretty self-conscious as it was. The music from outside seemed strangely muffled in here... or maybe it was the sound of his own blood rushing in his ears drowning it out. When they were just a step away from the couch, Keith inclined his head towards Shiro, watching him with narrowed eyes over the crest of his shoulder.

“So, you got a name?” he asked. His voice was casual, bored, slightly rough, as if he’d already done enough talking already and didn’t care much for words at this hour. Shiro had to suppress a shudder as Keith stared at him with those eyes... eyes the color of a late evening hours after sunset, a deep indigo glow that turned reflections of light into stars sparkling in the night sky. The strap of Keith’s tank top began to slip off his well-chiseled shoulder...

“Takashi Shirogane,” Shiro tried to say but his tongue had chosen that exact moment to stick itself to the roof of his mouth, his inexplicably dry mouth. He cleared his throat and tried again and this time it came out as less of a mumble, but sadly the music was so loud that he could barely hear himself, and judging by the look on Keith’s face, he hadn’t heard Shiro either.

“Call me Shiro,” he finally coughed out. 

“Shiro, huh?” Keith slowly drew out, curling the syllables around his tongue like he was tying a cherry stem into a knot, savoring Shiro’s name in a way that made the man feel like something to be tasted and consumed. “Okay, Shiro. You know the rules? No touching, no photos, nothing beyond the dance. If you put one finger on me—” 

His eyes flashed dangerously. The stars vanished beneath a layer of storm clouds and when they reappeared, Keith had let go of his hand and was staring at the floor with a troubled look on his face.

“You know, I’m surprised you requested a dance from me after what I did out there.” Keith’s voice was so low, Shiro could barely hear it over the pulsating bass outside.

“Well, why wouldn’t I?” Shiro answered honestly before he could stop himself. “You’re amazing.”

For one wild second, it looked like Keith was blushing. His eyes were wide and staring into Shiro’s and his cheeks were visibly flushed. But it must have been a trick of the red-hued lights because not a second later, that bored, haughty look he’d worn on the dance floor was back on his face. The corner of Keith’s lip quirked upwards but not enough to constitute a real smile. 

“Thanks, _Shiro_...” There was something about the way Keith said his name that sent shivers up his spine. Or maybe it was the way Keith’s hands were gripping his shoulders, pulling him close, their noses barely an inch apart as Keith swayed slowly on the spot. Something slow and sultry started playing inside the room and he whispered, “Alright. The next few minutes are for you.”

He pushed and suddenly Shiro found himself on the couch, watching, dazed, as Keith started to dance. A whispering voice streamed out of the speakers, some pop song Shiro couldn’t focus on because the man in front of him had his full attention. Who would have guessed that fingerless gloves and unreasonably tight black shorts would make such a good combination? He watched, transfixed as Keith’s hands crept up his own body, hips swaying side to side in time with the music as he felt himself up, eyes trained on Shiro as if _he_ was the one putting on a show, dancing for a stranger in a darkened room...

His fingers dragged and caught the hem of his shirt, lifting the fabric just enough to expose a little more skin—beautifully carved abs, ribs, _yes, keep going_... Shiro was practically on the edge of his seat—and the shirt dropped back down. Keith was wearing something like a smirk and Shiro realized this was no accident. He hadn’t noticed he was actually leaning forward until Keith took a step towards him and shoved him back onto the couch, knocking what little breath he had out of him for good. 

“Stay there.”

Keith’s voice was lower, huskier now. He took his hands off Shiro, half moving, half dancing just out of reach, before grasping at the hem of his shirt and slowly, inch by agonizing inch, pulling it up. In smooth motion, he’d yanked it over his head, mussing his thick, dark hair in a way that made Shiro wonder if this is how Keith would look the morning after... The soft sound of fabric hitting the ground brought him back to reality and he found himself almost too embarrassed to keep looking. But he couldn’t tear his gaze away. Keith was now fully shirtless and Shiro was given just one brief second to admire the long lines of his physique, the wiry strength of his form before the young man dropped to his hands and knees started to _crawl_. He licked his lips.

Shiro swore under his breath.

“Did you say something, Shiro?” Keith asked innocently, the look in his eyes anything but as he continued forward, the curve of his back catlike as he sat, perched at Shiro’s feet. Shiro found himself unable to answer; Keith’s hands were on his knees and they were sliding further up. The bass pounded in his ears.

“What are you doing?” he asked, in a voice far too breathy for his own liking. “I thought you said—”

“Hm?” 

From between Shiro’s legs, Keith tilted his head, bringing his flushed cheek perilously close to Shiro’s thigh. His lips parted slightly. Shiro could feel Keith’s breath though the thin fabric of his pants.

“Oh. That,” he said dully. He made it sound like a rule that was made to be broken. Like Shiro was something he wanted to break as well. And he was damn near close.

“Yes, that!” Shiro wanted to scream.

“Yeah, about that...” Keith whispered, ignoring Shiro’s rising panic, sliding his hands up Shiro’s broad chest as he hoisted himself up, almost eye-level with him. “The rules say that you can’t touch me. But _I_ can touch _you_.”

“Touch” maybe wasn’t the right word to use here. The way Keith’s hands were all over him, rubbing his shoulders, traveling up his neck, caressing his cheek... Shiro bit back a groan and closed his eyes, not sure whether to thank or curse whichever gods were responsible for this night. Keith was feeling _him_ up, rolling his body sensuously, looking at Shiro as if Shiro was something he could literally eat up...

God, he was hard. Embarrassingly hard. It was actually getting a little painful and he needed adjust himself, bad, but that would mean dislodging Keith and that was the last thing he wanted to do when the man’s body was this close to his. And then Keith lifted a leg and repositioned himself... as if he were about to settle down onto Shiro’s lap. Shiro suddenly sat up.

“Wait, Keith!”

Keith’s knee slipped just a fraction off of Shiro’s leg and onto his crotch. His dark blue eyes widened. 

_Oh fuck._

The apology was halfway out Shiro’s mouth when Keith’s mouth twisted into a smirk. Shiro’s throat constricted.

Keith _knew_. 

He knew Shiro was hard and he was playing him like a fiddle and oh Lord, if he would keep looking at Shiro like _that_ , Keith could kick him in the nuts for all he cared and he would still want this. And if it didn’t make Shiro even harder than he already was... But Keith wouldn’t give him time to dwell on the uncomfortable truths he was learning about himself. His arms around Shiro’s neck, he started circling his hips, grinding against his captive wearing nothing but his ankle boots and those tiny black shorts. Shiro’s breath came out in a hiss.

“You like this?” Keith purred. “Good.”

Without breaking eye contact, he bit the edge of a glove and slowly pulled it off by the teeth. As he removed the other one, Shiro felt himself starting to unravel. Somehow, this looked even dirtier than when he was taking off his whole shirt. Only someone like Keith could pull this off.

“You wanna know what _I_ like?”

His ungloved hands were in Shiro’s hair, gripping the short locks tightly as he continued to rock back and forth in Shiro’s lap. He could _feel_ the heat radiating off Keith’s skin each time the younger man brought his body in close and with each well-calculated roll of his hips, Shiro’s sanity slipped further away.

“I like _this_ ,” Keith whispered, flicking the lock of white hair out of Shiro’s eyes. 

“And this.” 

He tapped the scar running across Shiro’s nose. 

“Can I ask how you got it?”

Keith could ask anything he wanted. Shiro somehow managed a weak laugh.

“I don’t know if you’re going to believe me.”

“Try me,” Keith breathed, sliding his thumb across Shiro’s cheek.

Oh, he _really_ wanted to. As if sensing his thoughts, Keith let his hands slide over Shiro’s shoulders, his biceps, all the way down the man’s thick arms until his palms were burning hot against the back of Shiro’s hands. He sighed and sank his full weight down into Shiro’s lap and Shiro was now trapped, unable to move his hands or his body as Keith looked at him curiously, waiting for the answer. Suddenly, his resemblance to Shiro’s cat was so uncanny that Shiro couldn’t help but crack a smile.

“About five years ago, my buddy Matt... he’s the guy I was talking to outside. We’ve known each other since college but he’s just a friend, a coworker—he’s a detective.”

He was stammering and Keith didn’t look remotely interested in Matt but he was still watching Shiro with those beautifully dark eyes so Shiro swallowed and closed his own eyes, forcing himself to concentrate on words and speaking like a normal human being.

“We were doing a sting operation and it didn’t go so well. I managed to pull us both out of there but not without a serious fight... and that’s how I got this,” he finished lamely.

“Shiro the Hero, huh?” Keith murmured, tilting of his head so that his long dark bangs fell perfectly into his eyes. “Nice.”

Coming from anybody else, it would have sounded like he was being mocked but somehow, he got the feeling that Keith was being honest. Neither of them was drunk as far as Shiro knew but his judgment seemed impaired. Was it normal for someone to give you a lap dance that made you genuinely feel like they wanted you? And the way Keith was looking at him… Shiro wasn’t sure if _anybody_ had ever looked at him that way before. If this was part of the act, then Keith was good, really good. Way better than anyone had ever given him credit for. Shiro could drown in those eyes.

“How about you?” he found himself asking. “Can I get to know you a little better too?”

Keith laughed, a low throaty sound that rumbled pleasantly all the way through Shiro’s body down to his very toes. He was sweaty. They both were. Keith’s arms were almost sticking to him as they glided up his thin blue dress shirt and wrapped around Shiro’s neck. How long had they been in this room, anyway? Keith had stopped dancing.

“Is that your way of asking me out?” he asked hoarsely, looking at Shiro through the curtains of his bangs. His expression had stopped being cool and distant a long time ago and now he was looking at Shiro as if there was something he wanted that only Shiro could give. His searching indigo eyes were clouding over, his breath growing shallow and ragged as he drew closer and closer. 

“Is it?”

Shiro couldn’t breathe. Was that the bass playing or was it the sound of his own heartbeat pounding in his ears?

“Shiro...?”

Keith’s lips were just a breath away when the lighting changed. The music had long since faded away.

“Time’s up,” Keith whispered quietly.

He straightened up, leaving Shiro’s lips colder and emptier than he thought possible as Keith slowly pulled away, his fingers leaving white-hot trails that burned into as they dragged along the skin. Without so much as a backwards glance, he scooped up his tank top and gloves and slipped them back on as he walked out the door. He left before asking Shiro if he wanted another dance.

Shiro sat there for a full minute before he stirred at last and came to his senses. He was an idiot. What was he expecting? That he would be able to get with someone like that? He felt like Icarus, flying too close to the sun, getting burned and falling back to reality with a resounding crash. Thoroughly deflated in every sense of the word, he adjusted his rumpled clothes and left the room.

“Dude, what happened in there?!” Matt’s voice was a harsh whisper in his ear. He’d been waiting just outside the gilded doors. How long he’d been waiting, Shiro didn’t want to ask. He went to the bar, signed the receipt he was given without looking at it and stuffed his copy into his pocket, Matt tailing him as they pushed their way out of the club.

“I don’t know,” Shiro answered glumly, roughly stuffing his arms into his jacket sleeves. He thought about how much overtime he’d have to pull to get back the money he must have spent tonight. He wasn’t sure how long he was in the back room but Keith couldn’t have come cheap. Luckily he still had a few beers in the fridge he could go drown his sorrows in. 

“So, did the groom-to-be have fun?”

He tried to change the subject but Matt was on to him. Detectives.

“Yeah, he did. We’ll see how much ‘fun’ he remembers having when he’s nursing that hangover tomorrow morning. But seriously though, all anyone can talk about is _you_. Nobody has ever gotten Keith’s attention for that long. What did you do?!”

“Me?” Shiro let out a harsh laugh. “I made a complete fool of myself, that’s what I did. Why are you acting like I did something amazing?”

“ _Because...!_ ” Incredibly, Matt sounded even more frustrated than Shiro. “Keith only dances for clients once per night. You were in there for...” 

He checked his watch, frowned, and ignoring Shiro’s miserable, “Please, don’t remind me,” called out—

“Three whole songs!” somebody hooted. It was one of the lawyers Matt had invited along and he was visibly drunk. Shiro looked confused. Had he really been in there that long? Keith hadn’t asked if Shiro wanted a second dance...

“Shiro, my man! You truly are the Champion! Bets were won and lost, my friend, and yours truly made out like a bandit.”

Laughing like a maniac, he slapped a stack of bills against Shiro’s jacket and staggered off with a belched, “This is yours, to say thank you.” 

He staggered off and whooped, slapping one of his comrades so hard in the back that the poor man buckled in the street. Matt laughed and tucked the bills into Shiro’s inside pocket.

“Well now, you can’t call this night a total loss. At least now we know your type.” He patted Shiro consolingly on the shoulder. “Come on, I’ll take you to a gay bar someday where you can meet a cuter brunette with a bad attitude who’ll appreciate just how special you are. Let’s go home.”

As he walked away, a cold wind blew down the alleyway and something small and white flew out of Shiro’s jacket pocket. Thinking it was the receipt, he snatched it up and stuffed it haphazardly into his jacket pocket, planning to burn it in his fireplace later when the sudden motion caught Matt’s eye.

“Hey, Shiro? What was that?”

“Nothing. Receipt,” he mumbled tersely but Matt was not deterred. He squinted suspiciously at Shiro in that way he did when interrogating a subject his partner had brought in.

“I don’t think that looks like a receipt.”

In a flash, he’d seized the crumpled corner that Shiro hadn’t quite managed to push down and yanked it out, a triumphant grin on his face as he held it away from Shiro, whom he kept at bay with a firm hand slapped quickly across the face. Morosely, Shiro could do nothing but watch it flap in the breeze like a white flag, hard evidence of his defeat flying freely for the whole world to see. He let his arms drop to his sides, surrendering fully as Matt brought it closer to his own face and squinted at the numbers. His brown eyes widened and Shiro’s stomach dropped. He did not want to know what the damage was.

“No way,” he mouthed, his jaw hanging slack. He turned to Shiro and thrust the paper at him.

Scribbled hastily on a lightly decal-ed napkin in dark, bleeding ink was a set of ten numbers separated by dashes and a single name.

“ _Keith_ ”


End file.
